Chapter Text
Yukimura never bothers locking his front door when he’s home, and Matsuoka never bothers knocking. He knows Yukimura’s schedule, knows what days of the month Yukimura spends playing ero games, what days Yukimura won’t sleep because he’s working on a deadline, and which nights to bring dinner so he won’t starve. Yukimura knows when he walks in if Matsuoka wants to drink to forget about work, if he wants to talk about survival games, or if he wants neither. If he wants something he’s never been able to ask for. Something he’s never had to ask for.
Yukimura isn’t a great sniper. He’s not a great mangaka. But he likes to think that he is at least good at this, he can at least be good at Mattsun.
He doesn’t even have to look at him to know that Matsuoka isn’t here for fun. There’s no beer in his hand and no smile on his face, just a heaviness that has become somehow familiar. Yukimura wonders if Mattsun can recognize it too, or if he’s too caught up in his own thoughts to feel what he’s doing to the atmosphere.
“Mattsun,” Yukimura says, twisting in his desk chair to look at him. Matsuoka lets the door swing shut behind him, but he doesn’t move past the entryway.
“Yukki.” There’s an edge of a plea to it. Yukimura hates that, that hint of desperation.
He doesn’t need to ask. Doesn’t Mattsun know that by now?
Yukimura has learned over the years that Matsuoka likes these things rough and fast, likes not having to think about what’s happening. So when Yukimura strides over and grips at his hair, tugging Matsuoka’s face toward his own, Matsuoka closes his eyes like he’s bracing for impact.
But the first kiss is gentle. The first kiss is always gentle. This is the selfish thing that Yukimura takes for himself. He lets himself fall into this one kiss.
And then he drags a stumbling Matsuoka across the apartment without even giving him the chance to take off his shoes. Yukimura pulls him into the bedroom and pushes him onto the mattress. The sheets billow around him.
Matsuoka blinks up at him, waiting.
Yukimura strips off his sweater before straddling him, left hand pinning Matsuoka’s to the bed even though he doesn’t struggle. His other hand skates up Matsuoka’s side, over his chest, and stops at his throat. Yukimura is very careful with the pressure: enough to be uncomfortable, enough that he can feel Matsuoka’s pulse quicken through his fingertips, but not enough to leave marks or cause damage. He doesn’t move until he feels Matsuoka swallow, Adam’s apple shifting against his palm, and then Yukimura moves his hand to Matsuoka’s cheek. He runs his thumb along the seam of his lips.
Yukimura kisses him again, and this time he isn’t kind. He feels Matsuoka wince when their teeth hit, but he kisses back all the same. Yukimura is unrelenting, refusing to let Matsuoka breathe until he’s finished unbuttoning his shirt.
When Yukimura finally stops and moves back, he keeps Matsuoka’s bottom lip between his teeth so Matsuoka has to chase him into a sitting position. Yukimura tugs at Matsuoka’s collar. He takes the hint and pulls his shirt off, throwing it aside. Matsuoka moves forward to kiss him, burying his hands in Yukimura’s hair. Yukimura’s eyes widen for a second before he kisses back. If Mattsun started this, he’s allowed to enjoy it.
As soon as Matsuoka’s lips leave Yukimura’s, Yukimura presses him back into the mattress with a not-so-gentle hand. Matsuoka’s hard, and it’s showing through his pants, but Yukimura ignores his erection in favor of licking his way up Matsuoka’s stomach and chest, pausing every now and then to suck a mark into his skin. He’s careful to make them only where they will be hidden by a shirt, since Yukimura knows that marks cause Mattsun trouble at work. He knows how to hold himself back well enough to avoid that. Besides, no one but him ever sees the bruises he leaves on Matsuoka’s hips or the scratch marks Matsuoka leaves on Yukimura’s back. That’s good enough for him.
He takes his time here, enjoying the lines of Matsuoka’s body. He’s so much broader than Yukimura is--but maybe that’s just normal. Yukimura’s body is weak, frail, and too thin to avoid notice by the kinds of people who like targeting the fragile. Matsuoka’s body is firm and solid, muscles built up from the training Yukimura has never had the energy for.
If only the rest of him were this sturdy. Maybe then they wouldn’t be here at all.
Yukimura licks a line up the side of Matsuoka’s neck. He puts his tongue in his ear just once, only long enough to hear Matsuoka gasp in surprise, before he nibbles at his earlobe. Yukimura tugs gently at his earrings with his teeth and then drops back down, leaving a trail of kisses along Matsuoka’s throat.
Matsuoka shudders when Yukimura’s tongue circles one of his nipples. Yukimura considers teasing the other with his fingers, but he chooses instead to palm Matsuoka’s cock over the fabric. Matsuoka groans, hips arching up into the contact, and Yukimura squeezes slightly. He feels it twitch in his hand when Yukimura scrapes his teeth against his nipple. He smiles into Matsuoka’s chest as he licks at it. Always the masochist, his Mattsun.
Yukimura unzips Matsuoka’s pants, and Matsuoka kicks off his shoes so Yukimura can strip him. He keeps his touches feather-light: a gentle stroke through Matsuoka’s underwear with the back of his hand, the barest graze of smooth fingertips against the shaft once he pulls the underwear aside. It’s enough to arouse, but not nearly enough to relieve pressure. “Yukki,” Mattsun gasps, his voice strained, “Yukki, please--”
“I know, Mattsun. I know.”
Yukimura takes a moment to undo the top buttons of his shirt and toss his glasses onto the bedside table before he reaches into the drawer to pull out a condom for later and lube for now. It still surprises him, how deftly he can uncap the tube or tear open the foil now. Given his personality, his distaste for everyone who isn’t Matsuoka, and Matsuoka’s affection for women, Yukimura assumed he’d never have any use for these sorts of things.
It’s funny, maybe. He always knew that if it happened, it would be with Matsuoka, knew that his willingness to do anything for him extended to sex, but Yukimura always assumed that he would be the one on his back or his knees.
Ah, well. It doesn’t matter at all.
He’s gentle with the first finger, careful to give Matsuoka time to adjust to the intrusion. Yukimura doesn’t wait long to add the second. He’s gotten good at this, knows exactly where to touch to make Matsuoka cry out, knows exactly when to stop to make him beg for more.
But Yukimura doesn’t want begging tonight, so he gives Matsuoka exactly what he wants.
It’s almost vicious, the way he moves, but efficient above all. He keeps an eye on Matsuoka, seeing what motions make his knuckles go white where they’re fisted in the sheets, what makes him bite back cries, what makes him moan so loudly Yukimura’s glad he’s only got one next-door neighbor.
It’s the third finger that changes things. Matsuoka tenses up around him, his breath stuttering, and all of a sudden he’s sitting up, his hands scrambling for purchase on Yukimura’s shirt. He drags him forward by the collar. “Yu--Yukki. Yukki, I-- Sto--”
Yukimura freezes. He waits. Matsuoka’s grip on Yukimura’s clothing loosens, and he settles back into the mattress, muttering an apology. Yukimura cuts him off. “Mattsun,” he says, and though his hands are trembling and his breathing ragged, Matsuoka’s gaze is steady.
“You know I’ll do anything you want, Mattsun. So if you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so, and I’ll stop. But you have to think about what you want from me and what you need from me.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room is Matsuoka’s panting and the pounding of Yukimura’s heart as he forgets how to breathe. And then--
“Stay with me. Stay, here, with me.”
Matsuoka’s voice cracks. “Yes,” Yukimura says, and he crooks his fingers so Matsuoka will gasp and tremble beneath him, but that request wasn’t for him. How could it be, when Yukimura will never leave?
It’s not the first time Yukimura thinks Mattsun wishes he was fucking someone else.
Yukimura pulls his fingers out with a twist, and Matsuoka makes a noise high in his throat. It’s a sound of wanting and desperation and maybe Yukimura is a little vindictive in the way he thrusts into him all at once, but Matsuoka’s back arches and the sound he makes is much more pleasure than it is pain. Yukimura is slow to pull out but quick to push back in, and Matsuoka’s moans get louder and louder as he goes.
Sometimes when they do this, Yukimura covers Matsuoka’s mouth with his hand. There’s something about the way that Matsuoka gets louder to compensate for the noises that get lost in Yukimura’s flesh, and there’s definitely something about the time Yukimura’s hand slipped out of place and Matsuoka bit down on his palm to keep it there. Yukimura tasted blood when he kissed him after.
But tonight, Yukimura wants to hear every sound that Matsuoka makes, so he covers his eyes instead. For a minute, Matsuoka claws at everything he can reach--the sheets, Yukimura’s forearm, his own hair--before locking his ankles behind Yukimura’s back and tugging him forward. Yukimura lets out a breath of laughter as Matsuoka pushes his shirt aside so his nails can dig into Yukimura’s shoulders. Yukimura comes to a stop nearly nose-to-nose with Matsuoka.
There’s nothing good about Yukimura and nothing good about this physical relationship, but sometimes Yukimura can pretend that they’re close. Like an actual couple.
Ridiculous.
Yukimura presses one chaste kiss to Matsuoka’s lips--selfish, selfish--before biting at his shoulder. Matsuoka drags his hands down Yukimura’s back in response, the movement pulling Yukimura’s shirt off his shoulders.
Yukimura’s hand on Matsuoka’s cock sets the same pace as his thrusts, teasing on the upstroke and firm coming back down. He supposes it’s a lot for Matsuoka to endure tonight; the fingers on his back feel impatient.
Matsuoka’s hands don’t leave Yukimura’s skin as he moves them from his shoulders--he’ll have left marks again--up the sides of his neck to grip at his face. “Yukki,” he says, interrupting himself with a groan, “you need--ah--to go faster.” Yukimura nods because he knows Matsuoka can feel the motion, and Matsuoka lets go gratefully when Yukimura speeds up. He fills the room with needy, half cut-off noises and whimpers when Yukimura runs his thumb over the head of his cock.
He can tell Matsuoka’s close when he clutches at the sheets again, his heels digging into Yukimura’s back. Yukimura shifts his weight forward, just enough to change the angle of his thrusts, and Matsuoka latches onto Yukimura’s wrist, gripping hard enough to bruise.
For someone so loud, Matsuoka is always surprisingly quiet when he comes. Yukimura watches as his entire body tenses up, and then he spills warm and wet over Yukimura’s hand and across his own stomach. Matsuoka lets out a sigh as his muscles relax. Only then does Yukimura finally take his hand off of his face. Matsuoka blinks slowly up at him, tired eyes working to adjust to the light. It doesn’t take Yukimura long to finish; he comes with a grunt before Matsuoka’s eyes clear.
Yukimura pulls back, thinking about how this must look, himself not even half stripped but Matsuoka thoroughly fucked and spread out below him. It would probably look good in a manga.
He gets up to throw away the condom while Matsuoka is still recovering and comes back with a wet cloth for Matsuoka to clean himself off with. Matsuoka nods in thanks, burrowing under the covers once he’s done. Yukimura settles on top of the sheets, a book he doesn’t intend to read in his lap. He pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the bedside table; the lighter ignites on the first try. He takes a drag from the cigarette, fingering the corner of the book.
“Give me one too,” Matsuoka says. Yukimura hands over the pack and offers him his lighter, but Matsuoka shakes his head before setting the cigarette between his lips. Matsuoka puts a hand on Yukimura’s neck, fingers just reaching into his hair as Matsuoka tilts his face upward. His cigarette touches the lit end of Yukimura’s, and Yukimura is mesmerized by the way Matsuoka’s eyes fall shut. He wonders if his eyelashes would cast a shadow if Yukimura had proper lighting in this room, or if that even happens in real life; he’s never been close enough to anyone to tell.
Yukimura’s breath hitches. Not quite a gasp, not quite a sigh. This is intimate, as intimate as a kiss--more intimate than most of the kisses they’ve had. But then Matsuoka’s cigarette catches the ember, Matsuoka pulls back, and the moment is over.
He grimaces as he exhales, frowning at the cigarette in his hand. “Ugh. I forgot you smoked these.”
Yukimura clicks his tongue. “Go back to your apartment if you want your cigarettes.”
Matsuoka shrugs and takes another drag. “Beggars can’t be choosers, and neither can the newly fucked. I’ll stay here where it’s nice and warm and I don’t have to pay for the shitty cigarettes.” Yukimura doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes.
They fall quiet for a while, but it’s comfortable. Everything is comfortable when Mattsun is there. Yukimura could sit next to him forever with no complaints.
Yukimura’s cigarette is almost gone by the time one of them speaks again. “Shouldn’t you be doing this with a girl?” Matsuoka asks. He’s looking Yukimura’s way, but he isn’t looking at his face. His eyes are fixed on the glow of his cigarette. Yukimura taps the ashes away before responding.
“Shouldn’t you, mister number one host? It’s not like you’re short on women who’d be happy to get you off.”
“Yeah, well, most women are unwilling to do what you do for me. But you don’t even like this whole 'having sex with a guy' thing, do you?”
Yukimura breathes smoke into the silence. He doesn’t really know how to answer that question, has never really known the answer to that question. But he knows enough.
“I don’t need anyone but you, Mattsun.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he says, his voice low. Yukimura says it often, but it’s only at times like these that Matsuoka responds. It’s nice, sometimes, because he doesn’t hide the relief in his voice. It helps Yukimura lie to himself, so he can keep telling himself this is okay.
Eventually Yukimura gives up on his idea of pretending to read. He tosses the book aside and stands. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says, stretching. “Do you want some water or anything?” A grunt. Matsuoka buries his face in one of Yukimura’s pillows, instead of speaking. “Fine, fine. Good night, Mattsun.”
Matsuoka is well and truly asleep by the time Yukimura comes back, this time clad in pajamas and toweling his hair dry. He smiles fondly at him. Yukimura’s told him this before, and Matsuoka has never appreciated it, but he really does look beautiful in his sleep. Yukimura runs the back of his fingers over the smooth skin of Matsuoka’s cheek once before he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing. He looks around the room for a minute, focusing on everything that isn’t the soft glow of pink still lingering on Matsuoka’s face or the gentle glittering of his earrings in the dim light.
He keeps this space clean; neither his hobby nor his work spill over into his bedroom. He changes the sheets more often than the rest of his housekeeping skills would suggest. Yukimura likes to keep things presentable for nights like this, when the only smells left are his and Mattsun’s and that of the cigarettes they smoke together.
He’d like to have sex in Matsuoka’s bed once, where the sheets will smell like him, like those traces of perfume even a shower won’t wash away because he spends too many hours at the host club with women clinging to his arm. But Yukimura refuses to impose on him. This has never been about what Yukimura wants, anyway.
Except at times like this, when Matsuoka is asleep and Yukimura is too tired to resist temptation.
He slips into bed beside him and wraps his arms around Matsuoka’s waist, resting his head against Matsuoka’s back. He’s not supposed to do this, this sweet and tender thing that goes against everything Matsuoka wants when he comes to Yukimura’s apartment for sex. But Matsuoka can’t see him, and in the morning Yukimura can pretend it was an accident.
A very warm and very pleasant mistake. Nothing more.